Harvest Hunt

Summary: Kerrik was a master thief, but when he found himself pursued by the wild hunt, he would need more than fast hands and a set of lockpicks to win his freedom.

Harvest Hunt

Kerrik stumbled as the guardsman prodded him with his baton,
urging him to move more quickly with a liberal application of foul language and
unflattering remarks about the kobold’s mother. He might have taken offense if
everything the elf said wasn’t true. Well, except for that last bit about
lying with pigs. His mother didn’t care at all for pork. He would have pointed
out the fact that the brush underfoot was making it even more difficult to walk
in leg irons than usual, but he thought that would have just won him a jab to
his other kidney. So he trudged along in silence, doing his best to keep pace
with the much longer strides of the elf guardsman. The other five prisoners all
showed similar mixed emotions. He supposed second thoughts were bound to arise
when faced with the imminent reality of a life or death run through an
unfamiliar forest with a pack of slavering hounds on your heels. The
executioner’s blade seemed almost inviting compared to the thought of
dismemberment. Still, long odds for freedom sounded better to Kerrik than the
surety of his head rolling across the flagstones in the prison yard at dawn.
He’d never been a morning person.

His doubts about the wisdom of throwing in his bid to run in
the wild hunt returned with gut wrenching intensity as he watched the Dark
Huntsman ride into the clearing on the fringe of the Huntsman’s Forest,
followed closely by his nine Riders and a pack of lean, ghost white hounds that
pooled around his horse like mist. A dozen black braids cascaded over the
midnight cloak that flowed like mist around his unmarked, black hunting
leathers. The Huntsman made a small gesture and the hounds sat in a ring around
him, watching their master in silent expectation. He looked from one to another
of the assembled riders until his gaze fell on the Winter Queen and her party,
something in his yellow eyed gaze hinted at satisfaction with their presence. The
Huntsman bowed solemnly to the Winter Queen, welcoming her and her retinue as
witnesses to the ancient rite of the wild hunt.

The Huntsman called for the runners to be brought forth. Kerrik
and the others were herded into line before the Huntsman, sparks from their
spellcrafted shackles hovering around them like fireflies in the deepening
dusk.

One of the riders nudged his horse forward and addressed the
prisoners. “You, the condemned have drawn lots and six have been granted the right
to run before the wild hunt. Some will fall to the hounds, but the first one to
touch the blessed stone on Huntsman’s Hill shall win pardon. Any survivors who remain
will join the Huntsman’s company. His lordship, the Dark Huntsman will now confirm
that the runners are fit for the honor of running before the hunt.”

The Dark Huntsman dismounted and walked the line of
prisoners, his pitiless golden eyes searching for any sign of weakness. He
looked Kerrik up and down and asked, “Do you choose the trial of the Hunt over
the frozen blade wielded by the Queen’s headsman?”

“I do,” Kerrik replied, forcing himself to meet the
Huntsman’s gaze.

One by one, they all accepted the last, desperate bid for
life. Some put on a show of bravado to hide fear. The two red caps licked their
lips in anticipation of the run, just as Kerrik expected. He’d heard that these
two were fine examples of the murderous species of lesser goblins, their caps
soaked in the blood of many victims. The amanojaku bared his tusks as he looked
around at his fellows, obviously calculating ways he might shift the odds in
his favor. Kerrik knew he’d have to keep an eye on that one. The lone elf stood
apart from the others, his wary gaze focused on the pack of hounds. The raksha
mage regarded the others with undisguised disdain. Kerrik’s lip curled and he
spat. Just his luck the bastard who’d landed him in jail had been chosen to
run. Perhaps the hounds would tear out his liver. Kerrik turned his attention
back to the Huntsman, watching him closely as one of the riders removed his
shackles.

“You will run in two groups of three,” The Huntsman said. He
pointed to the elf and the pair of red caps. “You three shall run at the first
sounding of the horn. The rest of you shall run at the second peal.”

The Huntsman looked down at the small ogre. His eyes gleamed
gold and his voice scraped Kerrik’s nerves like a razor. “The Huntsman chooses
the order of the run. You dare question the Huntsman’s wisdom?”

“Certainly not, milord.” The amanojaku’s obsequious bow did
not move the Huntsman. “This poor fellow only seeks to understand the mind of
the great one who holds this one’s pitiful fate in his hands.”

“You are incorrect. The Huntsman wields no power over the
runners. Each one weaves his own fate through his choices and actions.” The
Huntsman looked directly at each of the runners. “You are here by choice. You
will live or die tonight as you choose. The hunt is but the instrument of
destiny, giving form to the choices you make.” His disturbing gaze returned to
the amanojaku. “A bit of advice, trickster. The Huntsman and those who ride to
the hunt are immune to your mind tricks. Don’t try them on us.”

Raw power rolled off the Huntsman in waves as he flicked his
fingers and the amanojaku recoiled as if he had been struck. The Huntsman turned
away and leapt into his saddle in a single, fluid motion. He raised his hunting
horn to his lips and blew a note that echoed across the plain for a full minute
before fading. Looking down at the elf and red caps, he hissed, “Run! Run for
your lives!”

They ran.

Kerrik and the others grew restless as the minutes passed,
awaiting their signal. At last, one of the Huntsman’s riders thumped the ground
with his lance. The Huntsman raised his horn for the second time. Kerrik
sprinted into the gloomy forest with all the agility and speed of a master
thief, leaving the others far behind.

At last, the Huntsman raised his hunting horn for the third
time and let loose a long, wailing tone. Fair warning to the runners. The
hounds joined in, their howls an eerie counterpoint to the horn’s cry. They
looked to their master and then they were gone, chasing the scent of their prey
in the darkening forest. Seizing the reins, the Huntsman turned his horse’s
head and cried, “Ride! To the Hunt we ride!”

The Huntsman and his riders led the way, followed closely by
the Fey riders. They wound through the forest, close on the trail of the baying
hounds. Every so often, a rider would glimpse one of the white, skeletal
creatures and then it would be gone, obscured by the dense patches of
undergrowth. Their mounts leapt over downed logs sprouting crops of moss and dodged
saplings eager to take their place among the giants that lifted their limbs to
form the canopy far overhead, running with unerring certainty of their link to the
pack running ahead of them. The horses became the Huntsman’s creatures, their eyes
flashing red and nostrils flaring as they fairly flew through the forest. The
riders were only passengers and witnesses to the unfolding contest between the
runners and fate.

The baying of the hounds suddenly took on the note of urgency
signaling that they had sight of their prey. The Huntsman sounded his horn
again and the Hunt increased its breakneck pace. They burst into a clearing where
the nine hounds surrounded the hapless elf. The man had his back against an
ancient oak. Magic flared around his hands and the hounds danced back, out of range
of the weak bolts he threw to keep them at bay. When he looked up and saw the
Huntsman and his riders, his shoulders sagged in defeat and he fell to his
knees.

Emboldened at the sight of their master, the slavering hounds
closed in, surrounding their prey. Then the Huntsman launched himself from his
saddle, transforming in mid-air into a huge black hound. He touched down and padded
forward as the pack made way for him. Straddling the fallen prisoner, the hound
looked into the man’s eyes and something seemed to pass between them. The elf
nodded once and closed his eyes, turning his head to expose his neck. The black
hound sank his fangs into the man’s throat and blood fountained from the wound.
Then the hound raised his head and howled a mournful tone reminiscent of the
Huntsman’s horn. He turned and walked away while the rest of the pack closed in
for their frenzied feast.

The riders watched with satisfaction as the hounds savaged
the elf’s corpse. The Huntsman resumed his other form from one step to the next
and mounted his horse. As soon as he did so, the hounds backed away from their
victim, turning to watch their master. The sound of the horn set them running again.

The red caps crawled through the underbrush and emerged in a
small clearing that was completely surrounded by sharp-barbed briars. A spreading
oak stood at the center of the clearing. Bedhric rose to his feet and swiped at
the leaves and dirt that covered his hands and clothes. Ledhric chuckled at his
brother’s fastidious ways, though he could not really criticize him since he
was the one who kept their blades sharp and clean, ever ready to slit the
throats of their prey. For his part, Ledhric thought he did quite well at
finding them ready quarry that wouldn’t leave a trail to their door.

Except that last one. The old woman had marked them before
she died and he hadn’t seen it. The mark had led the Queen’s guards right to
them, landing them on the headsman’s list until the Hunt had come their way.
Others counted them lucky to have made the short list but Bedhric had had a
hand in that, trading an inmate’s life for a spot on the list. That guard had
wanted revenge and they delivered it for him. Bedhric licked his lips and
fingered his cap to better recall the moment. Tasty, bloody revenge it was,
too.

“We fooled that elf, didn’t we, Ledhric?” Bedhric asked,
grinning.

“Like a babe led to slaughter,” Ledhric replied, grinning. “I
still can’t believe he was so gullible to think we’d send him on a track that
led him away from the Hunt. What a fool.”

“I heard them closing in. The hounds made short work of him,
I’ll warrant. Still, we must thank him for buying us time to find this spot.”

“True, Brother. I think this a good place for an ambush,”
Ledhric looked around. “What do you think, the bait and blade?”

Bedhric looked up at the tree. He was a fair climber and it
looked to be an easy one to scale. “I think that gambit will do, Brother. I’ll
climb, you go to ground.”

Bedhric scrambled up the tree, sinking his hooked claws into
the soft bark and pulling himself high enough that the hounds couldn’t jump and
reach him. By the time he settled on a branch and looked down, his brother had
made himself a fine nest of rotting leaves and dirt that looked undisturbed. He
couldn’t mask his scent but they were betting on Bedhric’s loud and obvious
distraction to give them the few moments needed to turn the tables on the dogs.
They didn’t have long to wait.

The lead hound followed their carefully laid track, scrambled
out from under the brambles and made for the red cap he saw clinging to the
branch ten feet up the tree, cringing in apparent fear. The hound howled and
leapt at the tree, falling far short of Bedhric’s perch. While the hound
shifted from foot to foot, trying to puzzle a way up, Ledhric emerged from his
hiding place and struck. Their blades had been taken from them when they were
imprisoned but no red cap worth the blood on his head needed a weapon other
than his claws to finish a hound. Ledhric gutted the cur in two swift strikes
and sank back into his hiding place, gathering the camouflage about him again.

Two more hounds clawed their way into the clearing and rushed
the tree. One suffered the same fate as the first hound as Ledhric attacked and
rolled around with him, claws sinking deep while the hound snapped at his face.
Bedhric dropped from his perch, breaking the third hound’s back as he reached
around to spill its entrails on the forest floor. Dipping their long fingers in
the blood of the hounds, they pulled off their caps and smeared the blood on
them to mark their kills.

The rest of the hound pack emerged from beneath the brambles,
spread out and surrounded the red caps. Snarling, they closed in. Bedhric
raised his head, drunk on the scent of blood. He looked over at his brother and
saw blood madness that matched his own. Bellowing his battle cry, he launched
himself at the nearest hound. Focused as he was, he didn’t sense the other two
hounds closing ranks behind him. He gasped when one of them sank its fangs into
the back of his neck, severing his spinal cord. He barely felt it when they
tore him apart, though it seemed to take a long time to die.

The Huntsman’s horse cleared the brambles and landed lightly
in the clearing, closely followed by the rest of the hunt. They held their
horses in check, waiting respectfully as the Huntsman bowed his head. There was
blood everywhere, the dismembered bodies of the red caps and three dead hounds surrounded
by the rest of the pack. Two of their number were wounded. A rider dismounted and
cast a healing net over the two injured beasts.

“These red caps were worthy adversaries, cunning and swift. A
pity they could not control their blood madness, for it ended them. It is the
curse of their species.” The Huntsman looked down at the remains of the red
caps and his hounds for a long moment. Then he lifted his face to the sky and
howled in mourning. The remaining hounds joined him in a chorus for their
fallen mates. The earth beneath the dead beasts opened up, swallowing the
hounds’ corpses, and closed again. Then the Huntsman opened the bramble wall with
a gesture and the hounds ran. He spurred his horse and followed.

Kerrik ducked under a low-hanging branch and rolled, coming
to his feet without losing pace. He could hear the raksha mage gasping and
cursing as he struggled to keep up. Kerrik snorted. The day a raksha could
outrun a kobold, he’d resign from the thieves’ guild. He’d been dodging the
city guard since he was old enough to snitch blood apples off the fruit
vendor’s cart. Of course, the forest offered more challenging terrain than the
back streets of Liethar, he thought, pushing his way through a tangled mess of
brush that snatched at his clothes and scratched his bare arms. He swore
creatively as he emerged on an unexpected open patch of ground at the base of a
massive tree. He could see the reason for the absence of underbrush. The ancient
tree’s dense, tangled branches shaded the area so completely that the only
thing growing under it was a fine crop of fungus. The ground was slippery with
the spongy stuff, forcing him to move with care.

He crouched and turned to look back at the rustling noise
behind him, relaxing when he saw it was only the amanojaku pushing his way into
the clearing. He spat and continued picking a path around the tree. If he had
his way, he’d rather have run with the red caps than the lesser oni. He didn’t
have anything against greater oni as long as they weren’t trying to kill him. And
he made sure never to give one of the huge, red-skinned ogres a reason to take
his kanabō out of its sheath. He rather liked the brutes. You knew where you
stood with oni warriors, who followed a rigid code that made them as predictable
as sunrise. By contrast, an amanojaku was night to the oni’s day. It was as if
the gods took all the traits the red giants lacked and poured them into their
smaller kin in a concentrated stew of treachery, chicanery and contrariness for
its own sake. He had learned early to give them a wide berth and never to
believe a word they said.

Kerrik sighed and gave the amanojaku an unfriendly look. He
didn’t expect to scare him off but he hoped to cut off pointless conversation.
“We’ve got nothing to talk about.”

“Ah, but Ando only means to help you, good kobold.” He
pressed his hands to his breast with an expression of fatuous sincerity. “You
need to know that the raksha mage means you harm.”

The amanojaku’s obsequious posture did nothing to endear him
to Kerrik. It just confirmed his already low opinion of the fellow. Kerrik
scoffed and kept walking.

“Did you not understand me?”

“I understood well enough.” Kerrik cast a look of utter
contempt over his shoulder at Ando. “I don’t see why you think that’s news to
me.”

Ando affected an air of amazement at Kerrik’s perspicacity.
“I should have known a great thief such as yourself would be one step ahead of
a traitorous raksha. Truly, you are a man of wisdom.”

Kerrik stopped and turned toward Ando, his hands on his hips.
“What do you want, ehrtherich?”

Ando blinked at the epithet and his eyes narrowed for a
moment before he resumed his air of foolish adoration. Kerrick was impressed
with Ando’s self-control. He’d have gone for the throat if someone called him a
demon-sucking slime worm. “I cannot quarrel with your skepticism, good kobold.
I must admit to selfish motivation, since I am ill-fitted to defend myself from
the likes of the raksha mage. But if we work together, I am sure we can beat
him to the stone.”

“Really? And how will we decide who will touch it when we get
there? There’s only one winner in this race and I don’t fancy the consolation
prize. Are you volunteering to be bound in servitude to the Huntsman?
Personally, I have no intention of letting him turn me into a dog, despite the
convenience of being able to lick my own balls. I rather prefer this form.”

“Life in any form is better than death at the raksha’s
hands,” Ando said.

“Great. You distract him and I’ll run for the hill. If he
doesn’t kill you, you get a master who suits your nature. I’m sure the Huntsman
will enjoy your company.”

“No, you must listen!” Ando grabbed at Kerrik’s sleeve, a
desperate note in his voice.

Survival instincts honed over a lifetime spent on the streets
kicked in and Kerrik threw himself into a forward roll just as a bolt of flame
incinerated the patch of fungus where he had been standing. Kerrik rolled to
his feet and looked across the clearing. The raksha mage scowled as he conjured
a larger ball of fire. Having lost the element of surprise, the mage was going
for a wide area destruction spell that would undoubtedly cook him and the
treacherous amanojaku both.

He turned and ran toward the looming hedge on the other side
of the clearing, slipping and sliding on the slimy surface. He wasn’t going to
make it; his footing was too unsure. His only chance was a leap of faith.
Offering a hasty prayer to all the gods, Kerrik threw himself down and slid the
remaining distance on his belly. He covered his head with his arms, crashing
into the base of the hedge and scrambling to get under it. He squirmed and
wriggled along, heedless of the damage the sharp spines of the hedge were doing
to his back. It seemed an eternity but was only a few seconds before he emerged
on the other side, where he lay panting for a moment while he caught his
breath.

He heard the amanojaku cry out and then a sweeping curtain of
intense flame began eating through the hedge. Damned mage was willing to burn
the forest down to get him. Kerrik found his feet and ran like six demon lords
were on his tail. He’d run half a mile before he stopped long enough to put his
back against an oak and catch a few gasping breaths. It was that or fall on his
arse. The Winter Queen’s dungeon masters didn’t waste much food on the
condemned, so his stamina was at a low ebb. Looking back he could see that the
fire had crawled through the wood until it reached a dryad’s copse about a
hundred yards from his position. Three dryads stood in a line, holding back the
flames with their magic. Kerrik wondered how long they’d be able to hold an
enchanted fire. He decided not to wait around to find out, sucked in a lungful
of air and stumbled on his way toward the hill and freedom.

The trees thinned out and the ground began to slope upward,
so he knew he was closing in on the hill. That was when the stinking midget oni
struck. Between one step and the next, Kerrik hit the ground, trussed up like a
winter feast hog in glowing bonds. He thrashed around to no avail as Ando
approached him and bowed.

“So good to see you again, my friend. I regret that you will
not be with us when we reach the hilltop, though I take comfort in the thought
that you would not wish to be bound to the Huntsman in any case. It is my great
joy to fulfill your last wish. But don’t despair, you shall dine with the thieves
of legend this night.” Ando bowed deeply. “Regrettably, I was forced to choose
between you. My lord mage promises to deliver me from the Huntsman’s clutches.”

“Nice work, Ando,” the raksha said. He kicked Kerrik in the
side, eliciting a grunted curse. The raksha smiled with satisfaction as the
thief thrashed about ineffectually. “You see, little thief? I win. I would have
taken care of you myself, but the Huntsman bound my talent so I can’t raise a proper
matrix. I’m limited to minor magics only marginally stronger than a Brùnaidh’s
hearth magic. So glad to finally remove your thorn from my side. If you had
just died like I expected you to do back in Liethar, none of this would have
happened. Ah well, better late than never. Come, Ando, let us go.”

“As you wish, lord mage,” Ando said, trotting after the
raksha.

Kerrik watched with perverse interest as the amanojaku
surreptitiously began to weave a spell. The little bastard was certainly living
down to his expectations. The raksha had better watch his back with that one.
They walked out of Kerrik’s range of vision and he fell back, taking stock of
his situation. The spellbonds were really solid. No matter how he tested them,
they remained as immovable as steel. He was pretty much good as dead, unless he
could somehow elude the Hunt until the raksha touched the stone. He didn’t like
the idea of spending eternity as a mutt but he was rather fond of living.
Staring up at the stars winking through the dappled canopy overhead, he
considered his options.

Kobolds weren’t particularly gifted with general magic, their
abilities tending to run along the lines of thievery and elusiveness. There was
nothing to steal and he didn’t see how he could elude anyone in his current
condition. Inspiration struck and he rolled his eyes at his own
thick-headedness. If he’d had a free hand, he’d have slapped his head like his
old da used to do. A few feet from his position, the ground sloped down to the
stream he’d run along on the way up the hill. The Huntsman’s hounds were great
trackers but he was willing to bet they were no better than dogs at tracking
someone in the water.

He took a deep breath and dug into the ground with his heels,
pushing himself onto his belly. He began inching like a worm toward the crest
of the slope. He paused to catch his breath, thinking it wasn’t as easy as it
had seemed in his head. Since his legs were bound, he couldn’t push in a
straight line because his knees didn’t bend like an inchworm’s body. He was
forced to correct course with each move in a painstaking zigzag toward his
goal. By the time he reached the crest of the hill, he was exhausted but the
distant baying of hounds motivated him to keep moving. He took a look over the
edge of the slope. Funny, it hadn’t looked that steep on the way up and he’d
forgotten about all the rocks embedded in the hillside. Ah well. The only way
to get to the bottom was to roll like a log and hope he didn’t break anything
on the way down. Gritting his teeth, he rocked back and forth until he toppled
over the edge.

The trip down the hillside was everything he’d expected. By
the time he reached the bottom of the hill, he felt like a well tenderized
cherein loin, having hit every rock and exposed root along the way. Slamming
his head against a rock near the bottom of the slope was the final indignity.
He was thankful he hadn’t lost consciousness since his momentum carried him
straight into the frigid stream, face down. He barrel-rolled and jerked his
head above the surface, spitting and coughing. He’d made it. Now all he had to
do was push himself into the middle of the current and let it carry him far
enough downstream to confuse the dogs when they came looking for him. If they
thought they’d lost the scent, they’d give up on him and go after the amanojaku
and the raksha.

Then he heard the long, wailing howl of the lead hound from
somewhere near the top of the slope. He held himself very still, terror lending
him strength to control his shivering body. If the hounds followed his trail
down to the stream, they’d have him. He’d run out of time. Twisting his head
around, Kerrik searched desperately for another option. The stream was fairly
deep and it widened a little way downstream, flowing around a clutch of
boulders that crouched like a gang of mineral trolls around a pool. He might be
able to wedge himself between two rocks and hope the water masked his scent
until the dogs passed.

He kicked and rolled until the current caught him and carried
him along like so much flotsam, taking him directly toward the rocks. He hadn’t
taken into account the fact that flotsam didn’t need to breathe. He caught a
quick breath as the current rolled him over again. He didn’t dare try to right
himself for fear his actions would throw him off course. So he held his breath
and tried to ignore his screaming lungs.

Luck was with him as the current pushed him into the rocks.
Undulating like a mermaid, he maneuvered between two boulders into the middle
of the relatively calm pool, put his back against a rock and rolled into a
somewhat upright position. He was too buoyant to sink without his hands to aid
him. He needed to anchor his body but how? Inspiration carried him between two
of the boulders. Pressing his back against one, he used his drawn up knees to
inch down until he was submerged. He confirmed that he could poke his nose up
to catch a breath of air without too much trouble. It wouldn’t save him from
turning furry when the raksha touched the stone but he wouldn’t end the night
as dog food. Lesser of evils. And as long as he lived, he could try to figure a
way to dodge the Huntsman, he thought, feeling hopeful. Then a weed covered
head broke the surface of the pool and hope popped like a foam bubble. The
creature smiled at the sight of him, showing a row of very sharp, black teeth.
She squealed with pleasure.

“Oooh, a gift for me. It isn’t even my birthday.” She turned
her head and brushed at the slimy weeds draping her bald scalp as she peered at
him with pouting lips. “Do you like what you see? I can make your dreams come
true.”

“Nightmares more like,” Kerrik grumbled. “You can drop the
act, Nix.”

“How did you recognize me?” The nix pressed a knobby green
hand against her chest in outrage. “No one can see me until I let them.”

Kerrik raised an eyebrow. “Surprise. Joke’s on you this time,
Nix.”

“Don’t call me that!” She rolled her shoulder up to her ear,
offended. Then she gave him a narrow look, leaning in close enough that he
could smell the fish and rotting vegetation on her breath. “How did you see
me?”

“Maybe you’re losing your touch.”

“No, that’s not it.” She continued to stare at him and then
her too large eyes widened and she nodded with a look of smug satisfaction.
“Oh, you belong to my lord.” She chittered and sighed. “I should have seen his
mark on you.”

“Mark?” Kerrik asked.

“My lord marks all his runners so he doesn’t lose them.” She
preened, pleased to show off her knowledge.

“He knows where I am?” he said, sagging back against the rock
as a wave of despair came over him. If he knew the runners’ locations, he could
run until Marabh’s Hell froze and the Huntsman could come pluck him up any
time. This entire run was a sham and the Huntsman was having a great laugh at the
runners’ expense.

“What would be the fun in that?” she asked. A feral parody of
lust colored her cheeks viridian and brightened her eyes as she spoke in a
conspiratorial whisper. “It’s the chase that’s so much fun, after all. Wondering
if this one or that one will manage to escape makes it all worthwhile. That and
the kisses.” She paused and Kerrik knew she wasn’t speaking of the wild hunt.
“And the eating isn’t bad either.”

She laughed, a throaty sound like water tumbling over rocks.
He shuddered, thinking he would never hear that sound again with innocent
pleasure. She didn’t seem to notice and stroked his cheek again.

“But you can’t play with one bearing your lord’s mark,” he
said, realizing he might be able to turn this to his advantage. He affected a
look of disappointment. “Such a pity. We could have had some fun together
before I go to my inevitable fate. Maybe we still could.” Holding his breath
against the stench of fish and rot, he leaned close to her ear and murmured,
“As long as I’m going to die, I might as well go out with a smile on my face.”

She framed her face with her hands, lust warring with the
Huntsman’s prohibition. A wistful expression softened her eyes and then she
shook her head. “No. I must not go against his wishes.” She ran a finger along
Kerrik’s jaw and sighed. “Though I admit it would be so enjoyable to take one
who knows what I am.”

“I do and I find you compelling,” he replied in a husky tone
that masked the gibbering horror that clawed at his guts. She was one large,
hideous package. It was no wonder she had to cloak herself in glamour and lure
unwary fishermen and hunters to her pond. He wondered for a moment if a male
nix would have her. The thought was enough to make a man swear off sex
permanently. “I don’t think the Huntsman would begrudge us this small
pleasure.”

“Perhaps my lord
intended you as a gift for me. He did present you all wrapped up in a neat
package.” She ran a long, bony finger down his chest and sighed. “It would be
so easy to carry you under the water to my nest. You could meet all my other
lovers. They aren’t too talkative but they are steadfast in their devotion. I
do treasure them but after a while, one does long for a warm embrace.” The Nix
draped her arms across his shoulders. “Now, about that kiss—”

Kerrik swallowed hard, picturing himself lying among the
skeletons of her victims in her watery lair. Life as a hound suddenly became
far more appealing. Focus. He had to keep her entertained until the Huntsman
caught up to him. The blood-sucking hounds must be getting close by now. Even a
blind athach could follow such an obvious trail. It wouldn’t take them long to
realize he had floated downstream.

She clutched him to her breast and kissed him, running her
fingers through his hair. Wonder of wonders, he held still when she playfully
ran her tongue over his lower tusks. He involuntarily let his jaw drop and she
seized the invitation, invading his mouth with enthusiasm. The taste of rotten
fish mixed with foul mud overwhelmed his control and he jerked away, gagging
and coughing.

“Liar,” she shrieked, eyes narrowing. “You said you desired
me. You’re just like all the other traitorous, faithless men! I’ll show you no
one toys with me!” And with that, she dove beneath the surface, caught his
fettered legs and dragged him under.

Kerrik closed his mouth, thrashing in an effort to break her
hold. He had no more luck with that than he’d had breaking his spellbindings.
She was strong and swimming fast, taking him deep into the pool. Then she
changed direction, hauling him into a narrow tunnel that must lead to her lair.
His heart sank. Bound as he was, even if she released him, he couldn’t make it
back to the surface before he drowned. He locked his jaw, holding his mouth
shut against his body’s increasing demand to breathe. She swam on, drawing him
along until the tunnel widened into a flooded chamber, lit by a faint glow from
above. She pushed him up under the domed ceiling and he gasped, gulping air as his
head broke the surface of the water. The light came from a sort of chimney of
tumbled rocks that let in a little air as well. By some trick of magic, it
carried the baying of the hounds quite clearly into her lair. He realized that
the nix must listen for unsuspecting passersby here.

“That’s right, take a good, deep breath,” she swam close to
him and hissed, “It’s the last one you’ll take.”

She towed him back under water and maneuvered him into a
position against the wall. Swimming backward, she looked at him with
satisfaction. Something sharp poked him in the ribs and he moved away, looking
to see what it was. He almost opened his mouth when he saw the row of skeletons
arranged along the wall, still wearing tattered bits of clothing and rusted
armor, their empty eye sockets staring at nothing. No, not nothing, he thought
with horror. He turned and looked across the room, where the nix reclined on a
flat rock in a perverse parody of sensual allure. He had joined the ranks of
her worshipful suitors, all arrayed for her everlasting enjoyment. Thanks to that
scum amanojaku, he wouldn’t even be able to fight her off when she began to eat
him.

No matter. He’d drown himself before he’d give her the
satisfaction of live prey. Her gaze fixed on him like some delicious morsel.
She swam over to him and looked him over, then she opened her mouth, flashing a
lot of very sharp teeth and proceeded to tear his shirt open. He struggled
involuntarily against the touch of her fingers on his skin, though he knew it
was futile. He was about to suck in a large lungful of water to end to his life
when he realized that his hands and legs were no longer bound.

He was so surprised, he almost inhaled. Instead, he pushed
the nix away and turned to swim for the exit. He felt her fingers close around
his right ankle and she pulled him back. He rolled over, caught the look of
murder in her eyes and knew he had to do something fast. He was no match for
her in water. She could outswim him and hold him down until he drowned. She
dragged him back to the place she’d chosen for him and pinned him against her
trophy wall, clearly intending to go with drowning before dining.

He lashed out but his blow lacked momentum and she brushed it
aside. It was hopeless to fight her underwater. Then his fingers brushed a
familiar shape on the floor beside him. Seizing the dagger, he swung it up and
buried it deep in the nix’s chest. Her mouth opened in surprise and blood
flowed out, mixing with the water as her grip on him relaxed. He kicked off the
wall and swam up to catch a breath under the dome. Then he dove for the tunnel
and swam as fast as he could.

He hauled himself up on a flat rock among the cluster of
boulders and lay panting, his heart pounding in the aftermath of terror and
near drowning. He sat up and listened for the pack but the forest was quiet.
Evidently, the hounds had lost his scent and gone in search of the others.
Small favor. Kerrik ran the back of his hand across his mouth and spat in an
effort to rid himself of the foul taste of the nix’s kiss. He might end this
night as a hound but before he did, he had a bone to pick with that stinking
amanojaku. He shoved the dagger he’d taken from the corpse in the nix’s lair
into his belt and dove off the rock, swimming upstream.

By the time he crawled up on shore and began trudging up the
slope, he was plotting his next move. He couldn’t figure out why the amanojaku
would have released the binding spell. He had to know that Kerrik would come
after him. It made no sense but he was never one to spit in Pielith’s eye. The
patron of thieves had done him a few good turns this night, a comforting
thought in light of the odds stacked against him. He’d been swearing earlier
while he waded through the icy stream and scrambled up the steep incline.
Remarkable how a man’s perspective changed when a barghest was hunting him.
That stream had just become his favorite feature in this whole Vanad cursed
forest. Even the nix had served his purpose, for all that she tried to gut him
like a carp. By dragging him down to her lair, she’d neatly covered his tracks,
leaving the hounds to chase different prey.

He found the tracks of his fellow prisoners and followed
them. He’d only gone a few hundred yards when he heard the unmistakable sound
of the Huntsman’s rally horn and froze. It sounded from some little way ahead
of him, followed by the baying of hounds and then the sounds receded into the
distance. He relaxed. They were running ahead of him, hot on the others’ trail.
He followed, figuring he might as well let the Hunt lead him to them. He was so
caught up in contemplating the way he was going to fillet the amanojaku that he
almost tripped over his corpse. The hounds had made short work of him. The oni
lay on his back, mouth slack and eyes fixed on nothing in the way of the dead.
Looking more closely, he realized that Ando had been staked out for the hounds,
his hands and feet pinned to the ground by thick vines. The Hunt didn’t go in
for this kind of thing. The Huntsman liked a straight up chase and catch, no
trickery. However, it was just the sort of thing that stinking raksha mage
would do. After he used Ando to take Kerrik out of the race, he turned on his
minion and left him to the dogs. Kerrik’s fingers closed around the hilt of his
dagger and he swore with sincerity and creativity. He had really wanted to gut
the little oni but staking him out for the hounds was a cheap, puppet master’s
ploy.

The raksha had manipulated the amanojaku and discarded him. Just
like he’d used Kerrik as his foil for that disastrous job. It had landed him in
the Queen’s dungeon on deathwatch because the raksha decided to kill a couple
of guardsmen. Any thief worth his lockpicks knew you didn’t hurt people if you
wanted to live a long life. Get in, get the goods, get out. That was the way it
was done, for the very reason that the Queen’s guards took a very dim view of
murder. It rankled even more that he’d been duped by the raksha like an
eight-year-old pickpocket. The mage had promised him a fat purse for an easy
job; just slip into the high mage’s house, snatch an empowered artifact and get
out. It was the sort of job Kerrik could do in his sleep. He hadn’t counted on
the raksha showing up right after he snagged the item, demanding he turn it
over before he even got out of the mansion. The mage no sooner had it in his
hand than he hit Kerrik with a knockout charm and disappeared like a wraith,
leaving the thief snoozing in the hallway while half the city guard broke the
door down. The slime-sucking raksha had set him up, killed the guardsmen and
left him to take the blame.

The fact that he had no idea where the mage had taken the
artifact didn’t help his case. The questioners hadn’t believed his story and
they were about to start in on him in earnest when the high mage showed up with
the raksha in tow. It turned out the high mage had marked the artifact against
thievery and his private guard followed its trail right to the raksha’s door.
The magistrate still sentenced Kerrik to death as an accomplice to thievery and
murder, though he avoided the torturer’s knives.

And now the conniving bastard was going to walk away free as
lark while he howled at the moon. Kerrik decided it was about time he evened
the score with the raksha and this was his last chance to do it. Breaking into
a run, he sprinted after the Hunt. Luckily, kobolds could go places the Hunt
couldn’t, allowing him to cut a nearly direct path through the sort of brush
and brambles that devoured the unwary. Still, he was surprised to emerge from
beneath a sticky hedge to find himself nearly face-to-face with the raksha
mage, who had become enmeshed in its gooey branches. Kerrik stopped and stared.
Oh, he owed Pielith a very large donation for this bit of good fortune. Kerrik
leaned against a nearby tree and grinned while he watched the raksha struggle,
only making matters worse as he did so.

“So we meet again,” he said.

The raksha jerked around, barely able to move in the bush’s
aggressive snare. “You. I can’t believe it.”

“Try. I swear I am not a specter here to haunt you.” Kerrik
drew the long, tarnished knife from his belt and cleaned his claws casually.
“Seems you are in a bit of a predicament, old boy. How do you plan to extricate
yourself?”

The raksha’s eyes narrowed. “I presume you aren’t suggesting
you would be willing to help me escape.”

“I’ve already seen how that works out. The hounds opened your
little friend up like a cherein sausage, you know.”

“He betrayed me, tried to cast a binding spell on me when my
back was turned.”

“I had no choice. The high mage would have known it was me if
I took the artifact. I had to employ a thief to steal it.”

“Too bad you didn’t realize he had set his mark on it.”

“Don’t remind me.” The raksha grumbled, looking hard at
Kerrik. “You have no idea how important that artifact is to the cause. Losing
it set us back considerably.”

It took a moment for the implications of that remark to hit
Kerrik. The he struck his forehead with the heel of his hand and groaned. “Oh
no, you’re one of those idiot rebels.”

The raksha laughed bitterly. “Rebels are nothing more than
tools. They have no vision. I am pledged to the one who will set us free. He is
the mightiest sorcerer who ever lived, heir to the great Goblin King’s legacy.”

“Right. How’s that
working for you so far?” Kerrik nodded to the sticky branches that bound the
raksha. “Is he going to show up here and cut you loose?”

“You fool, you have no concept of the forces at play,” the
raksha sneered. “My lord need not appear to save me. Even in my weakened state,
I can call upon the magic he has gifted to me and siphon yours to serve my
purpose.”

Kerrik gasped as the wind was sucked out of his lungs.
Falling to his knees, he felt his power draining like water from a broken cup.
A moment later, the raksha stood over him and laughed.

“Once again, you prove useful, thief. Now it’s time for me to
finish you as I should have done.” He raised his hand and Kerrik felt his
energy draining away as the mage drew his life force from his body. He knew in
a few moments, he would be dead. A long, wailing cry rose nearby and the
pressure broke off. The mage turned, listening and then looked down at Kerrik
with thinly veiled disgust. “It seems you will serve me yet again. I’ll leave
you to the hounds. I wouldn’t want them to catch me when I’m this close to the
monolith. As they rend you limb from limb, you may take comfort in the fact
that your death serves a great and noble purpose.”

The raksha stumbled up the hill, leaving Kerrik gasping for breath.
The Hunt was near. He felt their presence like a weight on his chest. In
moments, the hounds would break through the underbrush, tearing him to shreds
while that mad raksha used his stolen vitality to gain his freedom. Kerrik knew
he needed to move but his leaden limbs refused to respond. Another howl rang
through the forest and he summoned the will to roll onto his stomach and push
himself up to his knees. Growling, he summoned up the last of his strength and
regained his feet. Swaying as he tried to keep his balance, his hand brushed
the hilt of his found dagger and he felt inexplicably rejuvenated. He looked at
the dagger in wonder and saw that the blade glowed blue. A vengeance blade, he
thought. Filled with a sense of purpose, he staggered up the hill after the
raksha.

He burst from the forest into a clearing. He’d been closer to
the summit than he had thought. The monolith stood at the apex of the hill,
surrounded by a perfect circle of bare earth more than fifty feet across. Not
so much as a blade of grass grew within its boundary, as if the power of the
Huntsman’s stone repelled all life around it. Intent on his goal, the raksha
mage didn’t see the thief. Kerrik heard a bestial roar and realized as he
sprinted toward his quarry that it had come from his own throat. He tackled the
raksha and dragged him to the ground, pummeling him with his fists as he
screamed in incomprehensible rage. The raksha responded in kind and the two of
them grappled and rolled around on the ground, attacking with teeth and tusks
like a pair of ravening beasts. They were so caught up in their battle that
they didn’t notice as the Hunt arrived.

Hounds and riders arrayed themselves around the perimeter of
the circle, waiting as the combatants fought to determine the outcome of the
night’s run. Both of them were bloodied but neither gave any quarter as they
rolled closer to the monolith. Lost in their rage, they took no notice of the
proximity of their goal. Kerrik straddled the raksha, pounding him in the face
with his fists as the mage closed his hands around Kerrik’s throat, trying to
throttle him. All Kerrik could see was his enemy’s death. He wanted to taste
his enemy’s blood, tear his throat out with this tusks. Suddenly, he saw a
woman sitting astride a flame-eyed, sable mount at the edge of the circle. The
elf shone like the sun, burning the film of rage from his eyes and mind. He
wrenched free of the mage’s grasp and threw himself toward the monolith. The
raksha realized what he was doing and clutched at him, trying to drag him back.
Kerrik stretched his arm out and brushed the stone with the tip of one finger.

The stone pealed like a bell and fell silent. It was the most
beautiful sound Kerrik had ever heard. He fell on his back and stared up at the
full moon, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. He had done it. He was
free.

He heard someone weeping and realized it was the raksha.
Looking over, he watched the Huntsman dismount and walk toward the kneeling
man. As he passed the circle’s invisible boundary, the monolith hummed and
crystalline frost bloomed across the bare ground. He laid his hand on the
weeping raksha’s shoulder and the man looked up at the Huntsman, his face
suffused with terror.

“Please, lord, have mercy,” the raksha begged. “I will make
you a poor servant.”

“On the contrary,” The Huntsman said, “you will do quite
well. You have shown yourself to be treacherous, conniving, and merciless. You
lack imagination, so you need a master to focus your talents. The one you serve
now will only lead you to your destruction. I can promise you better. Those in
my service live long, indulge their special skills, and find a place awaiting
them in Vanad’s hall. Swear fealty to me and live or die now. It is your
choice.”

The raksha contemplated the offer. Raising his head, he
looked the Huntsman in the eyes and spoke clearly, though his voice quavered at
the end. “I swear to serve you until the end of my days.”

The Huntsman nodded and passed his hand over the mage’s head.
The raksha’s form flickered and then a large, snow white hound stood in his
place. The only indication of his origin were the silver plated runes on his
fangs and spellcrafted earrings running up his left ear. The newly made hound
threw back his head and howled, whether in joy or misery, Kerrik couldn’t tell.
The monolith rang nine times and all the hounds joined in a chorus of howls,
signaling the end of the hunt.

Kerrik scrambled to his feet, ready to run. The Huntsman turned
that unsettling gaze on him. Looking into his eyes, the thief could see the
barghest assessing him. Kerrrik tensed, certain the Huntsman was about to set
the pack on him. The Huntsman frowned, his words emerging in something akin to
a growl. “You are free, little thief, though your disrespect tempts me sorely.
The Hunt is sacred and its ancient pact with the condemned may not be broken.”

“Sorry, milord. I’ve been double-crossed so many times
lately, I’ve begun to question my own luck.” Kerrik released a breath and bowed
to the Huntsman. “By the Queen’s justice, I was a dead man. I thank you for the
hunt and for my freedom.”

“A second chance is rare, indeed, though you may have cause
to curse me for it. Put it to good use,” The Huntsman paused, eyeing Kerrik
thoughtfully. “Remember the lady of your vision. Allies will be hard to come by
in the dark times to come. Trustworthy allies even more so.”

The Huntsman turned on his heel, crossed the circle and leapt
into the saddle. Raising his horn, he blew a long note and cried, “The Hunt is
finished. To the feast!”

He turned his mount and rode off, the baying hounds running
ahead. The riders galloped after him, melting into the forest like wisps. That
was a fine bit of drama, Kerrik thought. You had to give the Huntsman points
for showmanship.

He was suddenly struck by the thought of his freedom.
Overcome by giddiness, he grinned up at the moon and danced about, singing a
slightly off-key thief’s ballad. His slate was clean, even the Queen couldn’t
touch him. By Vanad, she’d been sitting right there when the Huntsman paroled him.
Yes, this was a very good night. And now it was time to get back to the city
and pick up the pieces of his life. He had been out of circulation for several
months, so he was quite sure his family had ransacked his place and sold his
belongings. Kobolds didn’t waste time mourning the condemned when there was
profit to be made. He’d tucked a bit aside against need, someplace his greedy
relatives couldn’t find it. He could get by for a little while with that. He
would need to find work quickly, though, or he’d find himself sleeping under a
bridge and fighting off trolls. Turning opportunity to coin had never been a
problem for him and shortage of cash was a great motivator. Ah well, time to
go.

He looked around. He was alone in the northern forest at the ass-end
of nowhere with no transport, a rusty knife, and no supplies. The Queen’s
highway was a thirty league hike over rough terrain populated with hostile
flora and fauna.

He shrugged. At least he’d be walking it a free man.
Whistling the off-key ballad, he grinned and started down the hill.

Write a Review
Did you enjoy my story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks,
K_Lee_writes

Lacey Schmidt:
The Trouble with Super is that you can't stop reading it. Mr. Barrett's characters are all to easy to relate to even if you don't have a super quirk of your own, and their plight is both heart-rendingly funny and heart-warmingly sad at the same time. It's a bit like Office Space meets the Matri...

mrh:
I love this story soooo much! This is such an incredible twist on Harry Potter's story. I have loved every word of it. I hope you will write more soon! I want to know what happens next sooo bad! Please write more!

Jade Jez:
What a wonderful, immersive book from Eliott McKay. It starts with an air of mystery, introducing main character Michaela, the clumsy teenager. From there, it whisks you off your feet and dumps you into a beautifully written world where you can almost smell and hear everything happening. I go...

Schaelz:
I was intrigued from the second I started reading, and it kept my interest the whole way through. Chelsea has a way with words that will enchant you until the very end. She is very poetic with the way she mixes genres and keeps you on the edge of your seat. The main character is also very relat...

europeanlove:
I gotta hand it to you. I love reading. I read books everyday. When the book is good I can read it in probably 13 hours. Your story was amazing. Great prose, very imaginative. Incredible dialogue. I am deeply impressed. Keep it up.

Barbara Ponder:
This book is aimed at teenagers, however the style and content caught my attention and it is a long time since I was a teenager. Intriguing and enlightening novel I hope there will be a sequel soon.

Nate_L:
This story is amazing. The style, the description, it all drags you in. The characters are mostly the well known characters from King Arthur. There's Merlin, the sword: Excalibur. I recommend reading this through, at least a little, as it's a very satisfying read. I added it to my reading list af...

Steve Lang:
I thought this story was imaginative, and well thought out. I also think it was an original piece, and not a rehash of previous scifi stories I've read in the past.Thank you for the effort put into this tale, and I look forward to reading more of your work!

ga1984:
I really enjoyed it! Characters were deep and plot was pretty complex. A bit on the violent side but it doesnt detract from the story. Very dark but situations make sense. Ends kinda abruptly and later chapters will need some editing work. I'm assuming there's more in the works?

Alex Rushmer:
This was not what I expected, but I enjoyed it a lot Malfoy was always one of the characters that I liked a lot, so I like that a lot of this happens between him and Colette. I read the first couple chapters, and I enjoyed your writing style and am excited to see where you take this story. My com...

PurpleInkling:
Hippocrite is spelt hypocrite.Also it is an awesome story! A good one after so long. I was hoping someone would write a good fanficiton playing off what Ron said at the station. You are doing a remarkable job. It would have been interesting if Albus had also ended up in Ravenclaw though that mig...